


Aftershock

by MadHattress



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:37:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadHattress/pseuds/MadHattress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Raoul copes. It isn't always easy, but he tries. Phantom of the Opera fanfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftershock

**Author's Note:**

> Writing prompt challenge. I wanted to write a little about the viscount Raoul de Chagney this time. To make up for all those days I was into the, "OH MY GOSH RAOUL IS SUCH A FOP" fangirl mode when I was eleven, I guess.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera.

This is what happens when you grow up.

Sometimes, it all works out. Sometimes, and rarely this, the fairytale ending arrives. You ride off into the sunset, the radience of youth shining from the tips of your toes to the ends of your smile. That one day, one glorious moment in this life, the evildoers will always be brought to justice. That their fists would be shaking towards their cell window, cursing the day they ever decided to do wrong. Sometimes, the good guy really does win the girl.

And then reality comes and slaps you in the face and you are left sprawled on the street. I like to imagine it's snowing up a blizzard on that street. Snowing and left on the sidewalk, scratching your face and wondering what happened.

I guess you could say that's what happened to me, if you're a particularly cynical person. I'm trying not to be. A pessimist, I mean. After all, I did get the girl in the end. Lucky was I to have such a beautiful, kind person decide to grace my life. She is my soul, my other half, and I dare not even think of life without her. So, yes, in technicality, I did "get the girl". At least I had that going for me.

It was alright at first. The first few weeks after we were dragged by our feet into the Phantom... into the monster's... into Erik's scheme. We silently agreed to never speak of it again and that worked for a short time. Of course it worked at first. We were in shock. We were in love. The war against the Phantom's wrath was finally over. We were alive. And that, in itself, was a blessing. Most nights, I held her close next to me, as if dumbfounded we had even survied the whole ordeal. And that was life...

For a while.

It got worse as time progressed. One night, she had disappeared completely altogether and then when she had arrived home well into the early hours of the night I couldn't get a word out of her as to where she'd mean. Please, don't get me mistaken. I am not a controlling man, by any means. In fact, I was worried sick until those faint knockings sounded on the door. I was practically flooded with relief.

But to have seen her in that state when I opened the door... her clothes were tattered and covered in dirt. Her doe eyes were haunted. She was silently mouthing words as if I wasn't even there; she just walked right past me to the parlor room chair until I got her a blanked, tea, and had spent an hour's worth of prompting her to talk.

And even then, the only words she spoke that night were, "A proper burial. He needed a proper b-buriel." Nothing more, nothing less.

But, I knew what she meant of course. It was rather obvious. Only one man can make Christine Daae tremble with such fear.

Or rather, could. He had died, the terror-striking Phantom of the Opera Garnier had perished. For not even a mysterious man such has he could escape from the finality and justice of death. The nightmare was officially over, indeed. I wanted to sing. I wanted to cry to the world, "Finally, finally!"

And for a moment, I was disgusted with myself. This was a man just like any other. True, this man was one of a sinister nature for the most part. But... all he wanted was to be loved. True, his mind was warped to the point where good and evil were just words to him. But... I mustn't judge. Who knows what I would have done, in his shoes? With his face? I didn't laugh at his death. I didn't hate him to the point where I would wish his end.

But, then I took a second look into my Christine's eyes, those eyes filled with more despair than most beared in a lifetime... well, I was relieved. Just a bit.

The next day, she was better. There was still a tremor in her fingers, and a wary look about her eyes but she was more whole than she had been hours before. And my guard was down. However, the ghost of the Phantom hadn't left us. Not just yet. It got worse, day by day, week to week.

She mostly took to looking out the window during that time. Just staring at the carts and carriages passing by. Her eyes glassy and her hand pressed up against her cheek, as if bored with the world. Some days, she didn't even respond when I softly called her name, when I But I knew better.

And in this way, I hadn't gotten the girl. It was almost as if Erik had, in his death, gotten the last laugh.

"Ah, ha ha," I could picture his ghost chortling. "Sure, that arrogant little fop married Christine, but who stole her personality? Her very essence?" In my nightmares, his hysterical laughing rang deafeningly loud in my ear and I almost screamed.

Yes, I got the girl. But the Phantom got our sanity.

In the end, over a year after the horrid event, she returned to her normal self. She smiled again, and I was the happiest man in the world. We married. We had children(none of which were named Erik, contrary to popular belief). Our lives were safe and remarkably normal from then on.

Once and a while, she still cried out in the night for a terror that existed solely in her mind. In particularly shady neighborhoods, I found myself raising my hands to the level of my eyes. We were scarred in a way that wasn't shown externally. This was our trial to bear.

Whether or not there are always happy endings, I don't know. I'm not sure whether Christine and I got or will get one. Erik most certainly did not get one at the end of his life, by anyone's standards. Then again, if these lives were meant to be easy we would learn nothing. And for that, I thank Erik, I suppose. For he most certainly gave me a challenge.


End file.
